On a scale of 1 to 10, it was about a 3.

In the scheme of things, it could have been a lot worse. Both of our fathers are thankfully still alive and well. We don’t live near them, sure, but we talked with one and Skyped with the other.

Josh and I are also blessed to have two healthy sons, ages 4 and 2, who are great at doing normal kid things like beating each other up and sleeping late only on weekdays. To them, Josh is a loving, hands-on father (which is especially noteworthy on Father’s Day).

And, that’s pretty much where I should stop with the good stuff accounting.

There was no cookout or family gathering. We didn’t go to the pool.  Instead, we ran errands to Costco and our storage facility. And, we bickered over dinner in front of our foreign exchange counselor.

For context, Josh had been traveling all week for work. And on Saturday, I had given him a free pass to play golf. All day. Did I mention he slept in on both weekend mornings?

In hindsight, I guess I should have done more planning. But, he never told me where he wanted to go for brunch or what he wanted to do on Father’s Day. And, he’s the spontaneous one. If I had planned, he surely would have wanted to do something else.

So, by 9:00am on Father’s Day, I was, shall we say, crispy. I went down for a nap and woke up two hours later to Josh complaining, “What kind of Father’s Day is this?”

We went out for bagels, which was sort of fun. If you overlook the fact that our sons ate woefully little of their $10 nova bagel and $7 turkey sandwich. And, the fact that by the end, I was covered in a blue, 0% juice drink called “Tum-E Yummies.”

The infamous, 0% juice drink.

The infamous, 0% juice drink.

That afternoon, Josh took a solo bike ride, which was a nice Father’s Day treat. And then, at 6:45pm, against our better judgment , we took the kids out to dinner. When it comes to things like this, we tend to have short memories. We think it will just be fun. What the heck? It’s Father’s Day!

What we overlooked was how dangerously close this was to bedtime, and that the kids would be starving by the time we got to the restaurant.

Given that it was Father’s Day, I watched the kids on the playground while the restaurant cooked our food. (Yes, there was a playground in the middle of the shopping center. This IS Charlotte we’re talking about.) I also ran interference during dinner when the dumbass kitchen brought the kids food out after the adult food.

But, when Ian refused to eat the miniscule Chicken Satay skewers when they finally arrived at the table, and he also refused the veggie squeezie packet I offered him, Josh barked the equivalent of backseat driver orders for me to Just. Give. The Squeezie. To Ian. Already. After all, He’s just two!

And this is when I let Josh have it. In front of Roni, the 20-year-old Israeli counselor staying with us for the month.

It’s always nice when you yell at your husband on Father’s Day. Or, rather, give him some lingering silent treatment with a healthy dose of internal cussing.

Things sort of got better on the way home. We saw lightning bugs everywhere. And, after we hosed down the kids in the shower, they fell asleep quickly. Then Josh and I watched part of a truly incredible TV documentary about North America.

Wild and crazy times.

When we thought about the day elsewhere — about Josh’s family gathered for the weekend on Cape Cod, and my dad in Florida going for brunch with my mom and friends because my sister and I don’t live near them — we realized the full extent to which the day sucked.

And that’s the truth of it. There were no smiling photos or witty comments posted to Facebook. No memorable gift giving.

Just errands, bickering and stressful meals out with young children. Happy Father’s Day, Sweetie.

Nothing’s as bad as the Mother’s and Father’s Days when we were struggling to start our family. But this was pretty close.

Next year: let’s plan on barbequing.  I’ll buy the grub if you grill it up. And, maybe, we’ll even take the kids to the pool.